


Fantasies Come True

by singasongofdestiel



Category: Avenue Q - Lopez/Marx, Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Songfic, Watching Someone Sleep, Wet Dream, dreams come true, fantasies, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:02:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4085893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singasongofdestiel/pseuds/singasongofdestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is watching over Dean at night, as he always does. But tonight, Dean starts to talk in his sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantasies Come True

**Author's Note:**

> Based on 'Fantasies Come True' from the musical 'Avenue Q'.  
> Song found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=50f_UWaI8Dc

Cas perched in the darkened room; watching everything and nothing, as had become his habit. Tonight, the dark wood and whisky smell of Bobby’s drew his intestines into swirling cursive type. He felt so lonely. The night tolled with the incongruity of a transdimensional mythological being making his home among overdeveloped apes, particularly among those who made it their business to hunt beings like him.

Tonight, he broke the convention of so many nights before.

He spoke out loud.

“Dean, are you awake?”

The sleeping man shifted and Cas wished he could reel the words back in. He never spoke; never let Dean be aware of his presence. The slippery little minnows he had let escape now could damage everything he had worked for. He stood up, panic catching him between fight and flight and the chance this just might, possibly, lead to a conversation that would alleviate the loneliness. Before he could act, Dean twisted towards him and opened his mouth to reply.

“Ah, is that a unicorn?” Cas checked— there were no unicorns in sight. When Cas examined him more rationally it became obvious that the position he was in could only come about through sleep or the throes of rigor mortis (which the speech disqualified from being the cause). Dean was simply talking in his sleep.

Cas resettled himself, as Dean continued to mumble. “No, I want the purple knife. Wait, who painted the kitten?” Maybe the best option would be to shake him awake, at least then the conversation would be slightly more lucid.

“I love you, Cas.”

Stop-stutter-stammering, Cas bit his tongue and drew in all the air he could feasibly contain.

“What did you say?”

“I love your little laugh.” Cas continued to goggle, vibrating like a stretched-out slinky.

“Dean? Are you awake?” His voice rose at the ends in a way that it never had before. His pulse beat like a wild boar trapped inside a pen, or an angel’s soul trapped in a pathetic human vessel.

 

“Take off your shirt.”

So Dean was having THAT kind of dream. Cas’ eyes stretched as if they could encompass the leering moon. “ _If only I could see inside his head”,_  he thought; but no matter how wide his eyes grew, that was not at all possible. He let his imagination explode away from him, and allowed himself an internal monologue.

Oh Dean, if Cas had known he had been shy all this time, he wouldn’t have hid the way he felt. But now it seemed as if they had been hiding from each other. He let his mind wander further into the dusky kingdoms of possibility.

All those nights, Cas had sat by, with thoughts of Dean running through his head. Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean— Dean was speaking again.

“I know, put my amulet on the pie.”

Cas had never thought the things in his head could really happen, could even happen in the makeshift bed in front of him. Between those rumpled sheets, bodies pressed close. He stepped forward, his hand an inch away from Dean’s sleep-parted lips.

“You look like David Hasselhoff.”

Cas did not know who that was, but the words were enough to startle him into drawing back, even as he made a mental note to look it up later.

To think of all the years that Cas had missed the signs, the really glaringly  _obvious_  signs that he had dismissed as wishful thinking or a flawed understanding of human courting rituals. Who’d have thought when he was sent to earth that he would eventually hear what he just heard Dean say. He couldn’t yet repeat the words in his head— that would be like conjuring the witch in the fairytale himself.

And now Cas found that what had always been in his mind had been in Dean’s too. All of it for you, he had said. Who knew that fantasies came true for broken angels just as much as for Disney princesses? Everything he’d always dreamed of was–- not meant to be, ‘Team Free Will’ spent most of their time trying to prove that nothing was  _meant to be_ — but possibly it was just really, really right.

He could practically hear the bluebirds whistling around his head; the melodies of endless duets playing simultaneously. Okay, maybe he had watched  _Snow White_  a little too recently, but he indulged himself. He waved his head and hummed as a faint smile snuck around his chin.

After the musical interlude the idea that his fantasy could soon be a reality cartwheeled around and around his skull.

Now he was getting what he had always been dreaming of (or at least subliminally hoping for during his quest to find God and then to be God). He swore that from then on, he would appear whenever Dean wanted him. There to care. The rhyme made him snort through his nose. He felt so light-headed he almost searched for the stab wound— only a severe loss of blood could lead to such dizziness and heart palpitations.

He would make Dean’s fantasies come true as much as Dean had made his come true.

 

* * *

 

 

A heavy hand on his shoulder dragged Cas out of his subconscious.

“Uh, hey Cas, buddy… You’re talking in your sleep.”

Disorientated by the light, by the fact that there was a piece of paper stuck to the left side of his face, by the fact Dean was standing next to him and not lying on a bed; Cas scrumpled his face like a kitten about to sneeze.

“Oh, I-I thought you were talking in your sleep.” He frowned again.

“No, I was up ages ago, I already got coffee,” A little grin tinkled on the corners of Dean’s mouth as he took in the bemused angel. “You’re dreaming is all, don’t worry about it Cas.” He brandished a “TAKE CARE: CONTENTS ARE HOT” Styrofoam cup in the other man’s face. Cas empathised— his contents were boiling with pent-up desire, along with a strange kind of shame.

Cas felt as if Dean had punched him in the jaw, or as if he had died again; a little “oh” sat quietly on his lips. He sagged over the messy table that was covered in the research which had been the cause of his exhaustion.

“It sounded like a nice dream though.”

Cas swallowed the disappointment and embarrassment that roiled like an alligator in oversized clogs in his lungs.

“Yes, yes it was a nice dream.” He sighed and put his hand over his eyes, recreating the fantasy-filled darkness of his dream world.

“Cheer up, Cas. It’s a good morning.”

As Dean whistled off into the rest of the house, Cas and the coffee cup were left alone.

 

* * *

 

It really had been a good morning for Dean. Unusually, he had woken up before anyone else. Giving him plenty of time to deal with the symptoms of a deliciously racy dream involving himself and a certain supernatural being with blue eyes and ever-so-tousled hair.

Dean closed his eyes and revelled in the recalled flashes of skin against skin, the gasped “My love”s syncopated against his heartbeat, the way Cas tasted and felt and moved.

The dream, and the shower that followed it, had been his best yet.

The post-orgasm haze made his body feel glowy even while he was out buying coffee. The sight of a sleep-befuddled Cas on his return had made his heart feel glowy too.

Perhaps his shoddy luck was only 94% shoddy after all.

The time he’d spent with Cas had been so great and, absurdly, had meant so much. Even the betrayals had seemed somehow  _more_  than any of the others.

Dean was actually starting to be afraid that he liked Cas more than he’d liked any guy before. Afraid, because he knew that in his line of work those kinds of fantasies just didn’t come true. He sighed and rolled his shoulders before going to wake up his brother.

For now, at least, the fantasies were so freaking sweet.


End file.
